by Sophie Davis
Lark had intended to live in the apartment at some point, so the kitchen was stocked with every utensil sold by William Sonoma. Including some very sharp knives. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness and there was just enough light streaming through the partially open blinds that I found the block with no problem. As my fingers closed around the largest of four handles, my mind continued blasting warnings about how incredibly stupid and reckless confronting the mystery guy was.
Curiosity trumped safety, though. I wanted answers. This nonsense had gone on long enough. Someone knew Lark’s whereabouts. Someone knew what had become of her. Someone knew why she’d disappeared. And the guy in possession of a spare key to Lark’s secret apartment might just be that someone.
Knife in hand, positioned over my shoulder as I’d seen people do in the movies, I exited the kitchen and started towards the hallway.
The guy is a friend of Lark’s. He must be. She trusted him with a key, I soothed my internal voice screaming to get out of the apartment.
Heart galloping faster than a Triple Crown winner, I tiptoed down the hallway. The bathroom was directly across from the guest bedroom, both doors ajar. Had I left them that way?
My palm was flat against the door to the guest bedroom when a muffled sound, like something heavy falling onto carpet, came from the back of the apartment.
From Lark’s bedroom.
My next breath caught, sticking in my throat like wad of gum.
A sound somewhere between a yelp and a choking cough escaped my lips.
He, whoever he was, was still here.
Run. Run. Run. Get the hell out of here!
But I’d come too far to chicken out now.
There was no light seeping out from beneath the door to Lark’s bedroom, which meant the guy had heard me come in to the apartment and was hiding. Did that mean he was as scared of me as I was of him? Or was he waiting to ambush me?
Only one way to find out.
Throwing caution out the window, I noiselessly crept down the rest of the hallway. The bedroom door was closed all the way.
Last chance to turn around, my reasonable-self reminded me. You can just go right back out the front door.
No friggin’ way, the part of me that was desperate for answers countered. This is happening.
Wanting not only the comfort of light, but also to be able to see inside once the bedroom door was open, I flipped the switch to turn on the hallway lights.
With my free hand, I steadily turned the knob.
And then, in one fluid motion, I shoved the door open.
“Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?” I screamed as I burst into Lark’s bedroom, slashing the knife wildly in front of me as though it were a machete and I was cutting my way through the Amazon.
My question was met with deafening silence. Stunned, I blinked several times in fast succession. The bedroom was empty.
There is still the adjoining bathroom and the closet, I reminded myself.
But the master bedroom didn’t just appear empty at first glance. It felt empty. I turned on the overhead lights, the recessed bulbs so bright they were an assault on my retinas. Eyes darting erratically from the bed to the open bathroom door to the walk-in closet, I searched for movement through starbursts of light. My heart was in my throat, my breaths were uneven, and my voice shook more than I’d have liked when I called out.
“Hello? Hello? Is there anyone here?”
Yeah, sure, I knew it was silly and cliché, but the adrenaline rush had robbed my brain of witty statements and intelligent quips. I was operating on basic instincts, nothing more.
Again, no one answered my questions—no surprise there.
With the lights on, I had a clear view of the entire room. It appeared empty.
I sighed, relieved. And then had to remind myself that I should still be worried. Even if he was long gone, someone had been in the apartment.
To be safe, I did a sweep of every conceivable nook and cranny where a person could hide, including the ones a full-size guy would have to fold like an accordion to fit in. A nervous giggle escaped my lips and echoed off the bathroom walls when I threw aside the shower curtain to make sure the tub was empty—it felt like I was reenacting the shower scene from Psycho. Haphazardly I tore garments off of their hangers to assure myself that no one was lurking amongst the Vineyard Vines sundresses and Banana Republic pullovers. Kneeling on the floor beneath the clothes, I examined the panel covering the safe. Unfortunately, all the scraps from when Asher and I pried it loose were still laying on the carpet, so it was impossible to tell whether someone else had attempted to do the same. When I flipped up the bed skirt, I half expected a hand to dart out and grab my ankle. But underneath, I found only dust bunnies.
No longer in stealth mode, I turned on every light in the apartment—electricity bill be damned—and performed similar searches in the guest bedroom and second bathroom. Never in my life was I so relieved to come up empty-handed.
After opening every cabinet, the refrigerator, the freezer, and all of the drawers in the kitchen, I was finally satisfied that I was, in fact, alone. Relieved to the point of hysteria, I started to laugh. The short, high-pitched bursts of laughter bounced off the walls and made me feel like the apartment was mocking me.
“Oh come on, someone was in here,” I grumbled, and then felt even sillier for talking to inanimate objects.
Who, though? Who had been in the apartment? That was the $64,000 question. And one I had no clue how to answer.
I’d come to the Pines as an escape, as a way to physically distance myself from Asher. And damned if the childish coping mechanism didn’t work. Though, given the circumstances, facing the guy I’d kissed in a moment of weakness, and possibly lust, seemed the far lesser of two evils.
Now that I was convinced no boogeymen were hiding in Lark’s apartment, however, I was torn as to my next move.
“You’re already here,” I mumbled around the thumbnail I was chewing absently as I paced the living room. The unwanted visitor was unlikely to return tonight, I reasoned. And if he did, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe I would finally get some answers.
All the clues I’d found thus far were in my messenger bag. Before running into Deidre I’d planned on revisiting those clues to look for something I might have missed. But I was no longer interested in pouring over notes and articles that I could recite verbatim. No, now I was intent on uncovering the identity of the visitor. If not Blake Greyfield, then who? Who else had Lark trusted enough to give a key to her apartment?
Now that I was more clearheaded, I took a moment to look around for things out of place. The apartment was just as neat and tidy as I’d left it. The drawers and cabinets in the kitchen were only askew because I’d opened every last one in my search for the intruder. The clothes in the walk-in were only piled into a heap on the closet floor because I’d tossed them there. Nothing was amiss. Except….
The noise. The thump that came from Lark’s bedroom, the one that led me back there in the first place. What fell?
Sans butcher knife, I returned to the master bedroom. Standing in the doorway, I scanned the room, just as I’d done earlier. This time I wasn’t looking for a person, but rather an object. Something had to be out of place. My gaze zeroed in on the culprit immediately. A book was laying on the floor next to the bed. It was so obviously not right that it was a wonder I’d missed it before.
Kneeling down, I retrieved the book of Sudoku puzzles. Last I was able to recall, it had been on the bedside table. It wasn’t the only item, either. The manila envelope from the safe with the passport had fallen, as well.
Had I left them so close to the edge? Or had the visitor been looking at the contents?
I picked up both the envelope and the puzzle book and sat on the bed. The passport was still inside the envelope, just where I’d left it. Neither the bank card nor the credit card was there, but that was to be expected since I’d placed both in my wallet earlier.
Absently, I thumbed through the pages of the passport, ticking off all the reasons someone might be interested in the forged document. To learn my identity?
If Lark confided in one of her friends, maybe he knew about me? Maybe he knew that Lark asked for my help? Except, wouldn’t she have told him my name, too?
Ugh, no that didn’t make any sense.
Every muscle in my body suddenly froze, an unsettling realization causing temporary paralysis. The claim ticket. What if the guy had been looking for the claim ticket to Larry’s Pawn? That ticket was a stepping stone to the safety deposit box with the envelope addressed to Blake. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one following clues that Lark had left behind. Maybe this guy had found another apartment key in a train locker. Or his glove box. Or even under a freaking rock.
Was it possible?
Lark was careful—a planner and plotter worthy of her own detective show. I’d wondered before how a girl like that could leave so much to chance. Now I considered that maybe she hadn’t left anything to chance. Maybe the guy Deidre had seen entering the apartment was the Hardy Boy to my Nancy Drew. If I found him, we could work together. Two heads being better than one and all that.
How to find him, though.
While I pondered that conundrum, I flipped through the Sudoku book without really paying attention to the puzzles, except to note that they were all completed. Apparently Lark kept her mastermind skills sharp by obsessively playing number games.
“Think, Raven. Who did Lark trust? You have her journal for heaven’s sake.”
The journal.
If I was a cartoon character, a light bulb would have just appeared above my head. Lark’s journal was documentation of the last year or so of her life. She wrote about school, parties, the Elite Eight, Blake, her parents. If not Blake, then maybe mystery guy was one of the Eight?
Worth a shot, I told myself, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of my head reminding me that I was not one of the people Lark mentioned in her journal. At least, not yet. But I hadn’t read the entire journal.
A wave of cold washed over me as I considered the possibility that eventually I might stumble across my own name in Lark’s journal. That, in the lines of looping scrawl, I’d learn the answer to the question that bothered me almost as much as Lark’s disappearance. Why she, a girl with so much, asked me, a girl with so little, for help. My hands began to tremble and I dropped the Sudoku book. Surprised, I stared down at my shaking fingers.
What the hell is wrong with you? I wondered. Don’t you want to know how she chose you? Why she chose you?
“Of course,” I said firmly, answering my own question aloud. “I do.”
EMERGING FROM THE darkness into the brightly-lit lobby, I took a moment to let my senses adjust. The sounds of the band playing emanated from the ballroom, the latest upbeat Pharrell song played by the most talented cover band in Manhattan. Clusters of family, school, and society friends mingled in the lobby, but most partygoers were inside. Where I was supposed to be, preparing to blow out the candles on my birthday cake.
Stupid and brief as the fight with Blake was, it was also our first. Sure, he’d hinted that he wanted our secret relationship to become a public one sooner rather than later, but he’d never actually made a comment like the one earlier. My dirty little secret? Hardly. There was nothing dirty about our relationship, it was the most pure, most honest thing in my life. Maybe the only pure and honest thing in my life.
Instead of heading towards the open doors and the music, I sought out a deserted bench. I needed a minute to regroup before returning to the spotlight. Mother would just have to wait.
Plopping down on the cool metal, I leaned forward to rest my forehead in my hands. I used my fingertips to massage my temples, and focused on clearing my mind. If I didn’t turn my mood around pronto, everyone would spend the next week talking about how unhappy I looked while blowing out my candles.
Personally, I couldn’t care less about what the gossip columns said about me—they could call me an ungrateful brat, say I was pitching a hissy fit because I didn’t get exactly which gift/band/cake/whatever that I wanted. Or even create some wild story, like I’d been caught having an orgy in the suite upstairs and was annoyed that I’d been forced to leave to blow out the candles, when I wanted to be blowing something else.
But I didn’t want a scandal, particularly after my mother had given so much of her time and my father had given so much of his money. And not just that, but I’d already put them through enough of the malicious gossip in the past. Seeing Adam had reminded me of that. The worst part? There had been a lot of truth behind those rumors.
“You okay?”
Without looking up, I knew exactly who sat beside me.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I answered.
“You sure?
“Yep.” I sounded fake, even to my own ears.
“Want me to beat him up for you?” Adam asked.
My entire body tensed in the span of a microsecond. How did he know? Had he heard Blake and me fighting? So not okay.
Relax, Lark. Calm down, he’s probably just throwing out a wild guess, and you’re giving yourself away.
“Who?” I asked, going for a mixture of nonchalance and confusion.
Since the torment I felt over hurting Blake was still eating away at my soul, I refused to meet Adam’s gaze. My face would undoubtedly give it away, if my voice hadn’t already.
“That guy you were talking to back in the shadows.”
My head snapped up so quickly that the nerves in my neck screamed in protest. Everything I’d done, everything I’d put Blake through…it was all for nothing. We had been seen together.
Staring into the bright caramel of Adam’s eyes, searching for answers, it was like someone had pressed the mute button on everything and everyone else. No more music. No more happy chatter. No plates clanging as the caterers collected them. No more melodic pings of crystal being knocked together. Nothing.
“Lark?” Adam asked, his voice sounded as if it were coming from somewhere far away. “Lark? Are you okay?”
He blinked, and I snapped out of my trance. Taking in the concerned expression on Adam’s face, I remembered how close we had once been, how much I’d trusted him. How much we’d cared about each other. How much we’d looked out for one another.
“I…”
While thinking about how to complete that thought, something occurred to me.
“Wait, were you following me?” I asked, unsure.
“What? No, of course not,” he replied, looking at me like I’d grown a second head. “After downing two drinks with your friends, I had to use the bathroom.”
“Two drinks?”
“Yeah, you’d been gone for twenty minutes before I excused myself. Why would I follow you?” he asked, probably wondering when I’d grown so paranoid.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that how it sounded,” I said quickly. Pull it together, girl. “I was just surprised.”
“When I was walking over to the bathrooms,” Adam pointed over to a large Restrooms sign across the lobby, “I heard you, um, talking with someone in that hallway. I wouldn’t have said anything—obviously it’s none of my business—but when you came out, you just looked so miserable. Sort of like you do now. And the guy you were with, well, let’s just say I’ve seen death row inmates with happier expressions. You sure everything is okay? I really will beat him up for you if you need me to.”
Even knowing that Adam was trying to make me smile, to lighten the mood, I couldn’t muster the appropriate reaction.
“No, really, I’m okay,” I said. “I don’t need anyone beat up. But thanks for the white knight offer.’
“That’s what I’m here for,” Adam replied, giving me a gallant, seated bow.
At that, I did finally smile. Adam’s goofy antics reminded me of the old days, when he’d make a fool of himself just to hear me giggle.
A tuxedoed waiter passed by our bench on his way to the ball
room. Adam waved him over and snagged two sparkling glasses of champagne. He raised his flute in toast and we clinked glasses before taking sips of the bubbly.
“So, I’m guessing that he’s the real secret boyfriend?” Adam asked.
“Yep, that’s him,” I replied, feeling the corners of my mouth rise. Just thinking of Blake did that to me.
“He’s cute,” Adam said, with a wink.
“Hands off, buddy,” I said, giving him a gentle nudge with my shoulder. “You know I don’t share. Blake is mine.”
“Oh, secret boyfriend has a name?”
“Yes,” I scoffed, mentally chastising myself for the slip. “His name is Blake.”
“And why exactly is Blake a secret?” Adam raised one eyebrow, as if he didn’t quite get the game. “Is that something you people do here in Manhattan? Do you have a whole slew of secret boyfriends?”
“What kind of person do you think I am?” I asked with mock indignation. “There’s no slew. At least, not yet. For now there’s just the two of you.”
“Well that makes me feel much better about myself,” Adam said sardonically. “But seriously, why the secret? Do his parents disapprove of your humble Connecticut childhood? Does his publicist think it’s bad for his image? Do his friends hate diamonds?”
“Where do you come up with this stuff?” I asked, laughing.
“US Weekly, duh.”
“Right, of course,” I intoned. “That makes total sense.”
“Are you avoiding my question?” he asked pointedly.
“Maybe a little,” I admitted. “It’s hard to explain. I mean, it’s complicated. At first, it was to spare him from being judged by my friends. Also, of course, my mother. And then it just felt so good to have something of my own, something that was untouched, unsullied by other people’s opinions and thoughts, and just about Blake and I…”
